


my land of honey and gold

by okayantigone



Category: Naruto
Genre: Ancient!Hidan, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Brothels, Child Sexual Abuse - implied, Crossdressing, Danzou Shimura/Itachi Uchiha - past implied, Eye Trauma, Gen, Honeypot, Hurt No Comfort, Immortality, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape - implied, Terminal Illnesses, Trauma, Undercover Missions, past Orochimaru/Itachi - implied, past Orochimaru/Sasori - implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Hidan is tasked with being Itachi's handler on a long-term infiltration in a Yuugakure brothel, known for servicing high ranking diplomats.With Itachi's health progressively declining, and emerging mission details which put their objective in jeopardy, they have to rely on Kakuzu for support as their stay in the village of Hidan's youth becomes compromised.-“You fucking like him,” Hidan says. There’s amusement in his violet eyes, and a smile on his lips.“You do too,” Kakuzu answers lightly.“I find him attractive,” Hidan corrects. “You find him fond. It is very fucking much not the same thing. Don’t grow attached. This one will die. I have a way of knowing those things.”





	1. i - mission assignment

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags - while I am not going to go into explicit detail, a lot of very bad things have happened - both to Itachi, and to Hidan, and a lot of fucked up things are going to happen to Itachi during this fic, and he's not going to get better. 
> 
> This story is canon-compliant. It's happening during the timeskip, and Itachi is around 19-20 in this. 
> 
> I am also a fierce supporter of the headcanon that Hidan is older than the shinobi system itself, and it will come up a few times as well. 
> 
> By the way - the bad BDSM etiquette does NOT occur between Hidan, Kakuzu and Itachi. In fact, being with them, is the most well-cared this poor boy has been in his entire life. 
> 
> That being said, if angst, gratuitous whump and torture and strained dom-sub dynamics are your thing, please enjoy.

When they get into Pein’s office, Itachi is already there, waiting. He has folded himself in a couch by the wall lined with the exposed piping of the heater, soaking up warmth, his pale hands clasped loosely, deadly eyes closed.

 

As soon as the door opens, and he hears their steps, he unfolds gracefully to stand up, charcoal eyes peering curiously at the zombie duo. It isn’t often that the partner alignments in Akatsuki are disturbed.

 

“Kakuzu, Hidan,” Pein acknowledges. Hidan is scowling, and Kakuzu is unreadable. Itachi wants to cough, the blood cloth scratching the back of his throat.

 

“Your next assignment is long-term infilitration,” he begins quietly, and pauses waiting for their reactions.

 

“What the fuck – “ Hidan begins.

 

“Leader-sama,” Kakuzu starts, in a tone that suggests he is working his way up to getting angry.

 

Itachi remains quiet.

 

“Itachi will be the one infiltrating. The two of you will run support for him. Hidan – you will be his main point of contact, and his handler. Since Itachi will be infilitrating Yuugakure,” this time, he plows on, slightly raising his voice, and Hidan is forced to clamp his mouth shut, but there is a violent tension in his face, and a storm in his violet eyes.

 

He slants a sideways glance at the Uchiha, but he seems cold and impassive as ever.

 

“And Kakuzu – you will be in the area – I have other missions for you – but on the occasion that Itachi requires emergency extraction, he and Hidan will rely on you for support.”

 

“Understood,” Kakuzu says, but doesn’t sound happy about it.

 

“Itachi-san… I am requiring you for this mission, because you have had the training for it, as part of Konoha ANBU.”

 

Itachi stirs for the first time. Hidan notices, only because he is watching.

 

“Yes, Leader-sama,” he says simply.

 

“You have the right to refuse,” Pein says. That’s enough to warrant Kakuzu’s interest as well. There’s only one kind of infiltration that would require that sort of forewarning.

 

“This is a honeypot, isn’t it?” he asks, disgust thick in his voice. Itachi is as politely detached as ever.

 

“Itachi will be infilitrating a geisha house where many diplomatic guests are known to visit. He will be provided a list of targets, but his main objective is to capture the attention of the chief advisor to the daimyo of Kaze no kuni, who regularly summers in Yuugakure with his wife. His preferences notoriously run towards young males of Itachi’s build and general description.”

 

“Oh,” says Hidan, “Fuck no.”

 

Pein levels him an acerbic glare. “You will pose as a client, and meet with Itachi so he can relay information back to you. The length of the mission depends entirely on your effectiveness.”

 

“I am not going to help you fucking whore out a goddamn teenager, it is _ungodly_ – “ Hidan snarls, “by _any_ religious standard.”

 

“So you’d rather leave him without support in an unfamiliar territory?” Pein asks callously.

 

“I have already informed Leader-sama that I am more than capable of running this mission on my own,” Itachi says quietly. There’s no arrogance in his voice. He almost sounds apologetic.

 

“We’ll take the fucking mission,” Hidan says, just as Kakuzu opens his mouth to say something else. “But I’m not fucking happy about it.”

 

Itachi accepts the mission scroll from Pein. There’s only a slight tremor in his left hand as his fingers close around it.  
  
“Come to our room,” Kakuzu orders, after taking his own mission scroll. “To discuss the details.”

 

“Very well, Kakuzu-san,” Itachi says softly, inclining his head in an agreeable nod.

 

He follows them through the dark winding halls of the hideout. He is so silent Hidan has to fight the urge to keep turning around to check for his presence. It’s like he simply disappears, when no one is looking at him, the pretty cursed shadow.

 

 Hidan and Kakuzu’s shared quarters are pleasantly warm. Where Itachi and Kisame usually keep the sliding screen door between their respective spaces drawn, to give the other privacy, the two immortals have pushed it open, creating one large room, their two beds pushed together against one of the walls. Itachi can pick out the shelves of old books as belonging to Kakuzu, as the small copper dishes for incense are certainly Hidan’s.

 

He removes his shoes, and his bare feet sink into the thick carpet. It’s dark, and it feels like a blessing for his tired eyes.

 

“I take it you’ve been assigned similar missions before?” Kakuzu gets straight to the point.  
  
Itachi nods. “Yes. As ANBU – “

 

“Jashin,” Hidan says quietly, but with enough indignation that Itachi can’t help but feel a little warmed. No one has ever been that angry on his behalf.

 

He turns around and start busying himself with making tea. There’s an electric kettle, and a few pots of different leaves along one of the tables. Itachi had always found his compulsive need to keep his hands busy immensely fascinating.

 

“You will need to be … intimate with Hidan. And with me, if the occasion calls,” Kakuzu says, removing his mask. Itachi’s expression doesn’t change.  
  
“I am not averse,” he says quietly. “My preferences run towards men.”

 

“Small mercies,” Hidan says, passing a cup of tea to Kakuzu, and pressing the other one into Itachi’s hands. ”I’m not a rapist.”

 

He gestures Itachi to one of the overstuffed cushions on the floor, that seem to have taken the place of chairs arounf the room, and Itachi folds himself in it gracefully, taking a small sip of tea. Hidan has sweetened it.

 

Hidan takes a seat on the bed, next to Kakuzu. He leans casually into the other men, crossing his legs, and resting his elbows on his knees. Kakuzu, leaning against the headboard is staring into Itachi’s eyes with an aggressive intensity.

 

It is unfamiliar. Looking an Uchiha in the eye is a death sentence. But Kakuzu doesn’t avert his eyes.

 

“You know what kind of brothel you’re going into, don’t you?” Hidan asks, after a while. He seems intent on avoiding Itachi’s eyes as much as possible.

 

“Yes,” Itachi hides his face behind the rim of his teacup.  
  
“The clients who frequent this kind of place will hurt you,” Kakuzu says, “will you be able to handle it?”  
  
Itachi takes another sip of his tea.

 

“What the bastard means to ask is, you won’t keel over and die halfway through the mission, right?”

 

Itachi stills. It could just be a throwaway remark – Kakuzu and Hidan are both immortal and unbreakable. He’s fragile compared to them, and they’re certainly not used to looking out for a mortal teammate, but the question feels too pointed, somehow.

 

“My god is of blood and death,” Hidan continues, “and you smell of it. Always. Not just after a mission. Especially lately. You reek of death, and dying.”

 

Itachi debates lying, but the success of the mission depends on the truth. “I am sick,” he says quietly. “In my lungs.”

 

“Uchiha are fire breathers,” Kakuzu’s voice is quiet. “How have you lasted this long?”

 

“Orochimaru – “ Itachi pauses, and washes his cough down with the last of the tea. “He used to treat me.”

 

Kakuzu nods. “I know medical ninjutsu. I will treat you from now on. You know this about me, and you should have approached me about it earlier.”

 

Itachi ducks his head, feeling scolded, like a child.  


Kakuzu nudges Hidan away and slides off the bed, kneeling on the floor beside Itachi gracefully. Despite his bulk, there is a quietly contained dancerly quality to his movement.

 

Hidan lays back on the bed, and watches Itachi’s barely contained flinch when Kakuzu settles beside him. Such a skittish thing. But a damn pretty one. He and Kakuzu had talked about it, certainly – they were both dominant, controlling men, rough and violent at their core. It was the crux of their connection. They’d entertained the idea of a third – of someone softer to balance them. This mission seemed to be Jashin-sama’s cruel joke. Itachi was a delicate waif of a man, who looked like he’d die if a stronger breeze blew sideways in his general direction, and he was getting thrown in the middle of the ugly underbelly of Yuugakure’s main tourist attraction.

 

Rationally, Hidan knew that those pretty trembling hands were as blood stained as his own, but looking at Itachi now, sat precariously at the dge of the cushion, and angled to show Kakuzu his back it was hard to imagine.  
  
“I will touch you now,” Kakuzu warns, placing one large warm hand on Itachi’s back. Itachi tenses under the touch, his every instinct screaming at him to draw a weapon and activate his sharingan.

 

He feels foreign chakra tentatively spreading beneath his skin. Orochimaru’s hands had been cold.

 

“Shh,” Kakuzu murmurs. Itachi realizes he is drawing short panicked breaths only when the older man settles his other hand over Itachi’s eyes, a precaution in case he activates his sharingan in his panic. “I won’t hurt you now. You are among comrades.”

 

Something troubles him about Itachi’s reaction, but more important now, is to channel healing chakra into Itachi’s damaged lungs and weak heart.

 

“All of you, Konoha nin, are the same,” Hidan complains. “You just don’t fucking know how to ask for help. But every scripture says it plain as day – _ask and ye shall receive_.”

 

“Breathe now,” Kakuzu orders. “Slow and deep. Does that hurt?”

 

His thumb and middle finger rub gently at Itachi’s temples. It’s a gentleness Itachi hadn’t thought him capable of. It takes him a while to regain the ability to speak. “No.” he says finally.  
  
“Good.”

 

The loss of Kakuzu’s warmth is startling.

 

“I’m not a healer like Orochimaru was. But it should ease your cough up somewhat. You smoke opium for your pain, don’t you?”

 

Itachi nods, raising his hand to rub around his throat. Some of the tightness is gone.  
  
“It’s not ideal. We’ll have to bother Sasori for some of his scorpion powders and snake oils. I guess you took medication from Orochimaru before?”

 

Another nod. “That will make him cooperative,” Hidan says with a chuckle. “Any chance to show the snake up.”

 

It earns a chuckle from Kakuzu as well.  

 

“I suggest you get some rest now. We will leave the day after tomorrow, so we have plenty of time to prepare. Come here in the morning againt to go over the details once more,” Kakuzu says. He offers his hand, and Itachi takes it as support to stand up.  
  
“Very well,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

 

His bow is as delicate and graceful as the rest of him. He disappears quiety, like an illusion.  
  
“You fucking like him,” Hidan says. There’s amusement in his violet eyes, and a smile on his lips.

 

“You do too,” Kakuzu answers lightly. He pulls his shift over his head, revealing the scarred expanse of his chest.

 

“I find him attractive,” Hidan corrects. “You find him fond. It is very fucking much not the same thing. Don’t grow attached. This one will die. I have a way of knowing those things.”

 

“Your god tell you that?” Kakuzu snaps. His thumbs are hooked in the waistband of his pants, about to take them off. He suddenly feels less inclined to invite his companion in the shower with him.  
  
“Don’t take that fucking tone with me,” Hidan’s voice turns snappish as well. “I’m older than you. Older than you can fucking imagine. You’ve barely lived through the span of one natural human lifetime, and you think you know shit? I’m telling you not to get attached, but fuck that – go ahead, and break your own goddamn heart. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”

 

“Oh,” says Kakuzu, running a hand through his hair, and grabbing his towel from the linen drawer. “Fuck you.”

 

He slams the door to the bathroom shut and locks it. He can hear Hidan shuffling around their room – probably putting the teacups away, and lighting incense for a quick prayer before sleep.

 

Immortality is about outliving. He knows that. He knows it. He wonders why he’s so angry for no actual good reason – probably that Hidan reminded him of his own relative youth again. Asshole.

There’s something like worry at the pit of his stomach, but he ignores it. Their missions have always been successful.


	2. Chapter 2

Kakuzu watches Itachi pick at his breakfast in delicate, bird like bites, his chopsticks stretching like the break of his favored raven. He is eating a bowl of plain rice, and taking small delicate sips of the sweetened tea he favors. He looks up when Kakuzu enters, but the momentary alarm in his eyes disappears quickly.

“Good morning, Kakuzu-san,” he greets with a polite incline of his head. Everything about him is small and frail to Kakuzu’s eyes. He nods his own greeting, but he doesn’t speak. The conversation with Hidan had troubled him, and the other immortal had been too deep in prayer – or at least pretending that he was deep in prayer, to acknowledge him this morning.

He prepares his coffee quickly, and takes a heavy seat at the table. This whole mission still doesn’t sit right with him. Itachi is a formidable nin – Kakuzu has read his entry in the bingo book. He has a big red Flee on Sight note slapped all over his entry, and a daimyo’s bounty on his head, dead or alive, and one of his eyes alone can buy Kakuzu a lifetime of luxurious comforts.

But Kakuzu had paid hands on him, and felt the rot coursing through his system. He’d felt ages of untreated malady and injuries. Like him, like Hidan, Itachi had grown up in war time.

“How is your pain?” he asks, when there is only half of his coffee left.

“I slept very well, Kakuzu-san. It has been easier to breathe. Thank you.”

His voice bears a sweet polite detachment that Kakuzu recognizes as Itachi’s neutral tone, not attempting to be friendly, but rather making a concentrated effort to be found pleasant. He wonders if it’s one of the effect of the particular training enacted on him in Konoha to prepare him for that sort of mission.

“Good morning, heathens,” Hidan greets courteously, striding into the room. His eyes avoids Kakuzu, but he claps Itachi on the shoulder amicably. Itachi’s flinch is noticeable, made even more obvious by his soft wince as he attempt to hide it.

Hidan frowns, but does not comment, instead busying himself with cooking enough eggs for a small platoon. Kakuzu always found it peculiar, how easily and readily expressive his partner was, loud both when he was angry, and when he wasn’t. He had attributed it to the carelessness of youth. But Hidan was not young. And if he was careless, it was only because he had found nothing yet, that could kill him. Kakuzu almost wishes Hidan would be sent in Itachi’s place. He wishes something so dishonorable wasn’t needed to begin with.

Hidan places the plate of eggs between them. “Dig in, shithead,” he says easily, which is his way of saying all is forgiven on his end. Kakuzu digs in.

They invade Itachi’s personal space to continue planning, before departing for Yugakure early the following day. The sliding door between his and Kisame’s room is firmly shut, and a few privacy seals glow on it. Itachi’s room is dark, heavy curtains blocking out nearly all light. The bed is piled high with blankets and pillows, the small fluffy ear of a stuffed bunny rabbit poking through the mountain of down-stuffed cotton. The bedside table is a mess of his opium pipe, and the small glass jars with his various pain and sleep treating tinctures. An electric heater blasts almost unbearable heat through the dark stuffy space. Everything else though, is almost spartan in its neatness.

“You flinch when we touch you,” Hidan begins without preamble as soon as the door closes behind them.  
  
Itachi nods once, curtly. At least he isn’t denying it.

“Will it be a problem? You are playing a courtesan. These men will want to do more than touch you.” Kakuzu says. He deliberately moves closer to Itachi, and even though his eyes are nothing special, he can see the lines of tension in the younger man.

“And me,” Hidan adds. “This whole fucked up thing depends on how well you and I can sell the act. I am going to go ahead in Yugakure. I have a few identities there, still untouched, and I will reestablish myself as a diplomat from Frost country. You and Kakuzu will join me later – the bastard will present himself as a slaver and sell you. From then on, it’s up to you, how well you play your part.”

“I’ve done this before,” Itachi says tersely. “In Konoha I – “

“It’s not about wether you’ve done it before,” Hidan snaps. He reigns himself in before he can say something unjustifiably cruel. “It’s about whether you will manage to do it again.”

Kakuzu takes another step closer to Itachi, and places a hand on his waist. He waits until Itachi relaxes into his touch.

“It’s fine if you’re terse with me,” Kakuzu says quietly. “As far as they’re concerned, I am the man who bought you from a loving, but impoverished family, so I could train you, and resell you for a higher value.” He reaches to trace the delicate lines of Itachi’s face.

Like before, Itachi’s breathing is speeding up, irregular and erratic. Kakuzu covers Itachi’s eyes with his palm carefully. “Don’t activate it,” he says. He keeps his voice deliberately calm.

“The head bitch in charge said you’re allowed to refuse,” Hidan’s voice has an edge to it. “If you can’t do this, just say the fucking word, for god’s sake.”

“I can do it,” Itachi repeats quietly. “It will be fine. When I am there, when I have to, I will – “

“Shh, bird,” Kakuzu grasps Itachi’s waist more firmly, and presses him closer to his chest. “Stop panicking. Stop thinking so much. You don’t have to do it alone. Hidan will be there. I am going to be there.”

He says some other nonsense, petting Itachi’s skinny back until he feels him relax, and exchanges a look with Hidan over Itachi’s head. They only have a few days during the journey to train Itachi up.

Whatever fucked up child-whoring operation Konoha had ran with him, it had clearly done enough damage to terrify him of being touched. No wonder he’d snapped.

Hidan’s eyes seem to read the same grim understanding. He stands in the doorway, perfectly still, arms crossed over his chest, and watches Kakuzu soothe Itachi with words and touches. He moves his hand from Itachi’s eyes slowly, but he neededn’t have worried – they are closed, long inky lashes kissing the high tops of his chiseled cheekbones delicately.

“Easy now,” he says quietly. “I am going to kiss you. It might not feel very good.”

Hidan had never complained about the stitches. He’d rather enjoyed them – the ones on Kakuzu’s body, certainly, and the ones that held his jaw together. But Hidan’s tastes always ran to the perverse. Itachi was a young, pretty thing, doubtless used to other young pretty things.

Though it had been a while since his last foray in Konoha, Kakuzu remembered well the gleaming crimson roofs of the Uchiha district, and the richly upturned eaves of their stately homes, graceful dark eyed demon-adults and their beautiful dark eyed children in stride, their kimonos embroidered with the fire fan. The only clan in Konoha whose wealth and power rivaled the Senju, glorified royalty in a village of killers – their reputation had not changed or diminished over the years. The Rinnengan had gone extinct, and now the Uchiha alone wielded the power to bring down a tailed beast, and Itachi had grown as their heir. It read in his movement, in his sweetly contained politeness, and straight back, even when no one was looking. Kakuzu could not imagine that there had been much ugliness in his life, despite his unpretty profession, and whatever form of it he had faced – well. His family had paid the price for it.

But Itachi yields into the kiss sweetly, almost eagerly, his mouth parting with a soft little gasp, allowing Kakuzu to push his tongue inside. He tastes blood and rot. Itachi’s slender arms wind themselves around the broad expanse of Kakuzu’s shoulders. He can hold his breath longer than the boy, with his weak lungs, and so when he pulls back, Itachi looks hazy, and almost dazed, licking his lips. He casts his eyes down, a soft pink rising to color his cheeks with a delicate apple-pale blush.

Hidan’s pupils are blown wide, his eyes just a thin fuchsia ring around the dark expanse, as he licks his lips, and stalsk across the room to them. He is almost rough when he wraps an arm around Itachi’s delicate waist, and where Kakuzu had been gentle and coaxing, he is firm and unyielding in his grip, claiming Itachi’s mouth aggressively, pushing his hand into Itachi’s long dark hair. He doesn’t pull on it, just holds, firmly in place, and kisses itachi thoroughly, staking claim.

“I think,” Itachi needs a moment to catch his breath, allowing himself to lean on the immortal for support, “I think I will manage… believable intimacy with you.”

“Good,” Hidan says harshly. “You’ll need to fake it with a whole lot more than just us though.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Itachi says. There’s an edge to his cultured voice. “I know how to play the eager whore, when I have to. You need to ask yourself if it’s my ability to perform that you’re doubting or your own.”

There’s a challenge in his gaze. It’s Kakuzu’s turn to watch. Hidan had been against the mission from the start. For Kakuzu it was a matter of principle – honeypots were disgusting and dishonorable things, demeaning to shinobi who only served to serve their village, and paid the price with their bodies like common whores. For Hidan it was more than that, try as he might to deny it. All of it – returning to Yugakure and the gilded cages it offered, the gleaming platters on which it served the weak among its population, presenting them to the hungry gaping maws of careless tourists - was setting him on edge in a way Kakuzu hadn’t seen. Having to present Itachi – a comrade of sorts up to that world, which he’d been avoiding for most of his immortal life, Kakuzu knew ate at him.

“Don’t get mouthy because you kiss will,” Hidan’s voice is breathles with fury. “They’ll find other things to occupy your mouth with. You’ll be lucky if they don’t pull your teeth out to make it easier to fu – “

“Don’t be crass,” Kakuzu snaps. The image is a bit too clear in his head. He’d paid for whores in his time – he was a wanted man, and it was hard to get off any other way. It had been a time of war. His life had always been a time of war. “I think we’ve established Itachi can perform his part, and is aware of exactly what he needs to do. So let’s have one more looking at the map and what we’re packing. Me and Itachi will stay at a border inn for approximately a week, while you get in touch with your contacts, which should give me plenty of time to establish my own identity. From the moment I drop Itachi off at the brothel, you two will be on your own. Leader-san has given me a laundry list of names to kill and collect. Only contact me in the occasion that Itachi requires immediate emergency extraction – those are the basics.”

Itachi nods. He has opened up the drawers of his desks, picking out scrolls carefully. “Suppose you got me hooked on opium when you bought me to make me sweeter?” he arches an eyebrow. “It will be easier to bring poisons in, if I can also have my poppy milk and pipe.”

“I didn’t know you relied on poisons,” Kakuzu remarks neutrally.

“I was partnered with Orochimaru. I had to learn.”

Itachi pulls out an intricately carved box next, and when its lock snaps open, he lines out delicate hair pins that gleam wickedly in the dull darkness of the room.

“I won’t be able to get any weapons in, but I’ll have these. I also have a fan with knives. Anything else I can bring into my poetry scrolls.” He taps a few sealing scrolls, that have been carefully worn out to look like antique poetry. Kakuzu can appreciate the artistry.

“After you make the drop, I am going to cast a genjutsu on the house mother, and everyone else. It will make my blending in easier if they already accept me.”

Hidan nods at that. “Kakuzu will let me know when he ha smade the drop. I won’t come in until the week after. I will have a different appearance, but you will recognize me by this,” he raises the triangle rosary.

“What are the chances that there is another follower of Jashin in the vicinity?” Itachi asks cautiously.

“None.” Hidan says. There’s something quietly mournful in his eyes, but his voice is hard. “I am the last one. And speaking of lasts. Under no circumstances can you reveal that you are Uchiha. You do not Yugakure, but I do. They will carve your eyes out of your fucking skull to sell them faster than you can say tourist. I have seen it done before, when there were many of you – they won’t hesitate to do it now, that there are only four viable Uchiha eyeballs around. You think Orochimaru wanted your eyes? You haven’t seen a Yugakure slaver.”

Itachi nods. His face is pensieve for a moment.

“My ANBU tattoo,” he says quietly. “You have to burn it off.”

There’s a grim resolution in his voice. “It’s easier than having to keep it covered, or cast a genjutsu on it, when I don’t know if I may need my chakra.”

“I forgot Konoha brands their ANBU,” Hidan grumbles. “Talk about slavers.”

“How did you get around it on other missions?” Kakuzu asks curiously. He isn’t particularly eager to burn Itachi’s flesh off, necessary though it may be. Hidan is the sadist between the two of them.

“I wasn’t branded at the time of my first infiltration,” Itachi says vaguely. He is alredy pulling his shirt over his head, revealing the delicate pale skin of his torso.

“I’ll do it,” Hidan says, reading the unwillingness in Kakuzu, and takes a step forward. “Best get it over with now, huh?”

Itachi nods. “We’ve started preparing. We might as well.”

Kakuzu moves too, looming over Itachi. He rests a hand on his waist again, and the feeling of that supple warm skin almost jolts him. This time Itachi leans into his touch more easily. Hidan produces a flat ritual knife from somewhere on his person. He presses the cold metal against Itachi’s upper arm, measuring it for size.

“Cast a fire jutsu to heat the sucker up. Then I’ll sear your skin off.”

He manages to sound matter of fact about it, although there is some distaste about inflicting such pain outside one of his rituals.

Itachi just nods. His hands are balled into fists.

“If you want, I’ll kiss you again,” Kakuzu says quietly, scarred lips almost brushing against Itachi’s ear. “It will take your mind off it.”

Itachi nods, almost too quickly. His hands fly through the signs for his signature katon. The fireball he produces is big enough to be held comfortably in one hand, if such a thing were possible, and Hidan holds the knife in the heart of the flame.

He grips Itachi’s arm firmly, digging his fingers into his bicep, and presses the flat metal into the delicately inked spiral. Kakuzu swallows the noise Itachi makes with his mouth, holding him still, as the room fills with the smell of burning flesh. Itachi’s mouth tastes like smoke and blood, and Kakuzu feels the wetness of pained tears. He pulls back to let the younger man catch his breath, and presses his hand to his ruined skin, channeling healing chakra into the red burn until it fades into a sensitive smooth pink.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make it pretty.”

“I expected as much. It is alright. I am not very vain,” Itachi’s voice is shaking only a little.

“Why don’t you sit in bed and suck on your pipe for a bit,” Hidan grasps his shoulders and maneouvers him firmly to the pile of cushions on the bed, pushing him down. Itachi seems a little dazed still, and he sits obediently. Hidan lights his works for him, and pushes it carefully between his lips. “There you go. Good boy.”

Kakuzu opens the window, to air the smell of fire out.

“You took that so well,” he adds to Hidan’s praise.

Itachi does not indicate that he can hear them. He takes a while to move, sluggish and slow, pulling himself to sit more comfortably on the bed.

The presence returns to his eyes slowly, as he sweeps an imperious gaze over the room.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I would have done it alone, but it is easier… like this.”

“You can get something else tattooed over it, to fix the scar up later,” Hidan says with a shrug. “Orochimaru did.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Itachi repeats absently, and in an uncharacteristic moment of consideration, Hidan drops it.

“We’re setting out at dawn, so it might be best to take the rest of the day to rest.” Kakuzu says. He speaks in a general way, but his eyes take on Itachi’s still strembling form.

“I need to pop into town,” Hidan agrees. “I won’t be able to slip in and out of Yugakure easily when we get there, and I think asshole here would rather risk notice on the road, so -”

“You need to make a sacrifice?” Itachi made it a question, his voice lilting slightly.

“Yes.” Hidan says flatly. The pressing necessity for slaughter makes his tone clipped, and Kakuzu tries to remember when he last sacrificed. It might explain his flaring temper, and shittier-than-usual attitude.

“Go do that then,” he snaps, making a shooing motion.

Hidan eyes him meaningfully, then looks at Itachi with a raised eyebrow, but Kakuzu isn’t in the mood to be called out, with Hidan’s own hipocrysy plain as day. He glares at the older immortal until he leaves.

He approaches Itachi slowly, carefully, staying in his field of vision.

“You are the submissive kind, aren’t you?” he asks quietly. Itachi takes another deep drag of his pipe, and casts his large dark eyes down.

“Yes,” he says, quietly.

“Will you let me touch you again?” The first kiss had been a test. The second kiss had been to ease his pain. He could lie and say it was just ensuring Itachi could handle the mission, but there really was no excuse.

Kakuzu had grown impoverished and starved, lower than dirt, lacking in everything lovely or refined. How could he resist Itachi, when he tilted his head so, making that pale elegant throat an offering, soft and rich in every fibre of his being. Kakuzu was a covetous man. Want was in his blood.

Itachi’s brought the pipe to his mouth again. His hand is shaking. There’s a smear of blood on the ivory, and he breathes smoke out in a gasp. “Yes.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

The new blood sings in his veins. He can still feel the thick sweetness of it behind his teeth, under his tongue and at the back of his throat. Some of it has gotten in his hair, the silvery ends now matted a dirty brown, as though he’s been playing in mud.

 

He walks slowly, his sandals sinking into the dark puddles of rain, the drizzle gently surrounding him in a halo of broken light as he hums old hymns to himself, sated and full of his god’s blessings. The sacrifice has been found worthy, and so he too, has been found worthy, again, and again, and again, to be reborn.

 

With renewed strength he takes a chakra-fueled leap towards the open mouth of the god-creature that guards Amegakure. Their Leader fancies himself divine. Hidan has only ever known one god, but who is he to argue? It has been revealed to him, that there were times when Jashin-sama too walked the world as a mortal. If Pein truly is a god, or merely a mortal man with delusions, Hidan is not the ideal judge of that.

 

He stalks the halls of the hideout, still thrumming with power from the slaughter, and returns to the rooms he shares with Kakuzu, shedding his clothes and weapons. The water in the shower goes very hot. He remembers a time, when if one wanted hot water to bathe, one had to boil it on an open fire. He remembers a lot.

 

The spray beats on his muscles, and he relishes the sensation. The open wounds have faded to scars, have faded to nothingness. When he steps out of the water, he is cleansed, pure as snow once more, white skin, white hair, white teeth.

 

He rummages under the sink for the boxes od hair dye, and selects a nondescript dark brown. He is practiced at mixing the powder with the water, and he rubs it into his hair symmetrically.

 

The monks had known him by the eyes. That he was _marked_. That he was _chosen._ He never stopped to wonder what His Holiness had been doing in those parts of the village where he was found and _saved._ Not then at least. He’s got the dark contacts in his bag already. Now he just needs to check the rest of his equipment while the dye sits.

 

The room doesn’t look like Kakuzu has been in it since morning.

 

He lights some incense and sits on the floor to clean his weapons and sharpen them to perfection. The mission depends on him as much as it depends on the pretty _nothing_ slip of a boy that has been marked for death.

 

He checks and double checks his scrolls. His papers are in perfect condition. His scythe is too recognizable, so he will have to leave it behind. He’ll make do with just his knives and spears, but the lack of its familiar weight coiled around him leaves him strangely off kilter.

 

He prays for luck and temperance while he rinses the dye out of his hair.

 

Then he dries himself off, and regards the result of his work in the mirror. It’s fine. With the contacts in, he’ll be just another soft-handed diplomat on temporary leave.

 

He throws one of Kakuzu’s shirts on – it’s soft and well-worn, and comfortably big on him, and pulls up his trousers from the mess on the floor.

 

His walk to Itachi’s room is slow and quiet. He feels around for the chakra signatures of the other members, each of them up to his own devices.

 

Itachi’s room is no less stuffy and quiet than it was in the morning. It’s dark, but Hidan can make out the shaped on the bed, Kakuzu, curled over Itachi’s slender form possessively.

 

“Should I be jealous?” he asks, recognizing the lingering scent of arousal and sex. He keeps his voice light so Kakuzu will know he’s joking – he’s not in the mood for another fight right now.

 

Kakuzu shifts slightly, and Itachi goes with him, cuddling into the broad expanse of his chest with a small hum. Kakuzu’s got that sated look on his face he often gets after a thorough, satisfying fuck, his large hand running down the curve of Itachi’s back in slow lazy strokes.

 

Hidan shakes his head, sending his newly colored hair into his eyes, and huffs out a small laugh. “You lech,” as he sheds his clothes, and carefully climbs up on the bed, on Itachi’s other side, spooning him from behind. Itachi is warm, and his skin is supple and soft where it touches Hidan. He makes another small sleepy noise, one dark eye slowly blinking open and peering at them through a curtain of dark hair. Hidan leans over him to kiss his temple.

 

Itachi shuffles under the heavy blankets to face him, looking up at him through heavy lashes. His hair is free, cascading over his shoulders. Hidan lays a hand over the fresh scar on his upper arm.

 

“Did he treat you nice?” He asks seriously. He doesn’t personally mind getting manhandled, and choked and slapped and treated like a filthy whore, but Itachi, who can barely handle a healing touch…

 

“Yes,” Itachi’s voice is still rough with sleep.

 

Hidan smiles indulgently and leans over Itachi to capture his mouth in a kiss. It doesn’t surprise him that Kakuzu would move fast. He is impatient in the ways of youth.

 

“Good. I’m glad. Do you like the new hair?”

 

Itachi nods, and tilts his head to the side. “You will need to do something about your eyes,” he says seriously.

 

“I’ve got it covered, don’t worry.”

 

“Good.” Itachi’s eyes take another sweep of the room and the two men in his bed. He runs through the mission parameters one more time.

 

“Go to sleep, bird,” Kakuzu’s voice takes him out of his thoughts. “We still have a few hours to rest before we leave.”

 

Itachi wants to argue that he doesn’t need to be treated like a child, but he also knows he may not be able to rest much after the mission begins, so he curls back up under the covers, and trusts that Hidan and Kakuzu won’t kill him in his sleep as he lets his eyes flutter closed.

 

The two immortals exchange a look over his body.

 

“So you’ve made your peace with doing this?” Kakuzu asks, equal parts curiosity and challenge.

 

Hidan shrugs. “My judgment will come same as yours. It’s all in Jashin-sama’s hands. Will your honor survive it?”

 

Kakuzu’s eyebrows draw in distinct annoyance. “I guess we’ll find out.”

 

But he doesn’t sound happy about it.

 

Hidan looks down at Itachi and tries to see whatever it is Kakuzu sees in him. Softness, and innocence and a sort of precarious beauty on the delicate line between death and survival. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t move him. Kakuzu’s eyes drink Itachi’s youth up like a man dying of thirst, and Hidan doesn’t know how to help him.

 

Jashin-sama knows. He has imparted the knowledge onto Hidan. Itachi is of death, and death will claim him, and when it happens, it will break all of Kakuzu’s hearts.

 

“Go the fuck to sleep,” he says warmly.

 


End file.
